


Follow You Down

by Fightyourdragon



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, friends to lovers of a sort, so much smut and some fluff, this is canon and you can't convince me otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 12:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10944597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fightyourdragon/pseuds/Fightyourdragon
Summary: "There is an element of this journey into the dark that I'm only now beginning to appreciate...how good it feels."Ah yes, the fandom gods have blessed us with the most glorious fade to black in the history of ever...this is my version of what happens next. Here, a little preview..."The things I would do for you...and now, I find I crave your body as well. I want the tempest inside of you, to take my pleasure from its violence. I need to feel your strength, to finish bruised and satisfied and to know you need it too.” Just the words are enough for to have him shivering with the effort of holding back. Judging from the way Flint’s pupils are blown wide and he’s biting his lip he's in the same state. “You see captain, I am not a fallen man. I am what I am because I choose it, because I want it. You did not create me. But admit it, you like me this way.” Silver's smile is full of dark promise.





	Follow You Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in this fandom, so hello everyone! I adore this show so very much, and this scene was so perfect that the idea would not leave my head until it was written. I'm pretty sure this is canon, just saying. 
> 
> So many thanks to my wonderful beta reader Hedwig_Dordt for her editing help!

“There is an element of this journey into the dark I’m only now beginning to appreciate,” Silver admits, watching Flint closely for his response. 

“What’s that?” Flint asks, both wanting to hear the answer and fearing it simultaneously. Silver has been his personal siren from the moment they met, and now...well. Covered in another man’s blood is a good look for him, especially when it seems he’s come to embrace it. But if he has, Flint’s hopeless admiration will be even more of a torture than it already is. Though given the set of his gaze, perhaps it isn't so hopeless after all.

“How good it feels,” Silver replies, the adrenaline rush from killing Dufresne still pulsing hot and frenzied through his blood. His skin feels tight, like it could split with the effort of keeping the wild thing inside of him at bay, the thing that he’s fought to keep mastery over for his entire life. If he’s honest with himself, and he generally is, he can acknowledge that this latest development isn’t entirely unexpected. Certainly he’s never controlled the wills of men through fear and awe like this, but he's more than willing to learn how to wield the new strategy. After all, he already knows how to manipulate through smiles, jokes, stories built on pretty lies...and he __loves__ it. Has always loved the thrill of power that comes with controlling men with wills weaker than his own. 

He supposes It should fill him with shame or revulsion, the idea of using death and terror to get what he wants. Yet it does not. Not when what he wants, suddenly and consumingly, is for Flint to keep looking at him the way he is right now. Like he’s just sighted a prize he’s been seeking for so long he’d almost given up hope.

There is no fear in Flint’s eyes, no condemnation, though Silver can detect a slight hint of regret for what he thinks he’s created beneath the blatant desire. But no, Silver has created himself, and he needs Flint to understand that. It is still so new, so pliable, this thing between them, and Silver refuses to let the mold set until Flint knows him for who he really is. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you? I’ve seen you during a fight; your blood running hot, pleasure written in every line of your face as surely as if you were fucking,” Silver says, his voice pitched low and inviting no argument. “You know, and you feel no shame.” 

Flint wets his lips, takes a steadying breath, doesn’t think he could take his eyes off Silver’s for anything. “What of it?” he asks, cursing the fact that John- he thinks of him in familiar terms now in the safety of his own mind- seems to be the one man he can’t read. This could be another one of John’s games, a way to gain knowledge to use against him when it suits. Flint knows the man is mercurial, but that doesn’t lessen his allure. 

“You kill, and you order others to kill. You steal. You betrayed your country. You loved a married woman. You’ve been with men.” He pauses at the surprised look on Flint’s face, and shrugs as if to convey it does not matter to him. It matters a great deal. “I can tell by the way you look at a pair of strong thighs like you __know__ what they’d feel like wrapped around you, not like you wonder what it would be like.” Silver studies the flat look Flint is giving him, notes only the tiniest clench of a jaw to show he’s at all disconcerted by the direction of conversation. “Still, no shame. Guilt, however, of that you have no end.” 

Flint digs his nails into his palms and forces his features to remain calm despite the lurching of his stomach and the quickening of his pulse. He isn’t certain how to respond, and so he doesn’t. He waits, focusing on the blue of John’s eyes, the tilt of his mouth, the curls falling free of their binding that his fingers ache to touch. He waits, and he wants, and he knows John knows it, so the wanting is a sweet sort of ache. 

When it becomes clear Flint isn’t going to reply, Silver continues. “Oh yes, there’s a difference. Shame is what you feel when __others__ convince you you’ve done wrong. Guilt though, that is what you feel when __you__ convince yourself you’ve done something wrong. What is it, Captain? What could you possibly have done to warrant this life you’ve created for yourself? You take what you want when it is for your perceived greater good, but take nothing for yourself. What could deserve that sort of penance?” 

Flint considers his options for a few moments, angry at himself for the tightness in his throat, the unfamiliar tremor of fear at the thought of revealing so much of himself. He can stare down death and his hands are steady on the hilt of his sword, but this- this is an entirely different sort of danger. It recalls the terrifying last few inches between Thomas’ mouth and his own that first time. “And what will you do with the information?” he asks, though the truth is it hardly matters. His course in this is set no matter the consequences. 

“I’ll hoard it,” Silver promises, allowing the extent of his desire to pitch his voice low and seductive. He’s beyond questioning why he wants this, wants Flint, he simply does. Wants to know what it’s like to be his partner in this as well, wants that wild darkness to match his own. “A treasure like that is not to be shared.” He reaches a hand out and runs his fingers experimentally down the back of Flint’s hand where it is resting between them on the table, and even such a slight touch sends a spike of arousal through him so strong it takes all his willpower not to drag Flint over the table and into his lap. But he waits, because he needs to know the answer. 

“His name was Thomas,” Flint begins, sliding his hand forward to catch Silver’s wrist before he can pull away too far. “He was Miranda’s husband. She knew about us, even encouraged it. They were both of them mine, but it couldn’t last. We were found out, and they took him away. So I promised myself I would take everything away from England, from that broken place, that I could. And then I would create somewhere better in Nassau, just as Thomas wanted.” The thrill that accompanies the telling is unexpected, filling him with a sudden reckless rush. John knows now, knows everything, and all Flint can do is find out what he does with the new source of power.

Silver nods, schooling his face into an expression of gratitude and not surprise, as he hadn’t expected exactly that. He’d known something drove him from his officer’s past and it had something to do with Mrs. Barlow, but that Flint was in love with another man hadn’t occurred to him. Surely it had been love, as nothing so simple as good sex could drive a man to wage war against his own country, no matter its faults. He finds he’s oddly jealous of a ghost, especially since he can’t compete against it. “Thank you for telling me.” 

Flint’s pulse is thundering in his ears, his cock thickening in his trousers, and he can’t take his eyes off of John’s mouth. He wants, and he knows John wants, but somehow he finds he can’t be the one to make the first move. “That’s it?” Normally John doesn’t shut up, so that can’t be all he has to say about the revelation. 

“As I said, I just wanted to know, and now I do. And now you feel there is an imbalance of power because you don’t trust me yet, not as much as such information requires. But the power between us is equal, captain, and here is why.” Silver gets up, reluctantly pulling his wrist free so he can slip off of the table and move to stand just a few inches from Flint. He knows his movements without his iron prosthetic are undignified, but Flint doesn’t seem to care as his face shows nothing but blatant desire. 

Silver reaches out to grip Flint’s shoulder as he continues. “You are the only man who can get me to listen to a plan when it is not my own. You are the reason I stay, when I could have run so many times. I crave your regard. The things I would do for you...and now, I find I crave your body as well. I want the tempest inside of you, to take my pleasure from its violence. I need to feel your strength, to finish bruised and satisfied and to know you need it too.” Just the words are enough for to have him shivering with the effort of holding back. Judging from the way Flint’s pupils are blown wide and he’s biting his lip he's in the same state. “You see captain, I am not a fallen man. I am what I am because I choose it, because I want it. You did not create me. But admit it, you like me this way.” His smile is full of dark promise. 

“I do,” Flint admits, reaching out to rest his hands on Silver’s waist. He should be bolder he knows, but it’s so hard to believe this is real. 

“Then show me,” Silver dares, winking and nodding towards the door. He doesn’t even complain about needing an arm around Flint’s shoulder for support as they make their way towards the captain’s cabin. Half the men have them in bed together already and none of them care, so he may as well take advantage of the fact. “No interruptions!” he shouts to anyone listening. Not that anyone would dare, but he suspects Flint has a thing for the tone of his voice while barking orders.

Once they are both inside and the door is locked they stare at each other for a few charged seconds before Flint decides __fuck it.__ He reaches out with both hands to grab fistfulls of those damned curls and pulls John in so hard their teeth clack when their mouths meet, already hungry and open. He nearly pauses, a small part of him still questioning whether this can be real, but then John slams him back into the door while yanking his hips forward until their bodies are flush and that’s it. He has no control left, and wants none. He thinks, wildly, that this must be what a ship feels when its anchor line is snapped. 

Silver can feel the moment Flint surrenders to him, and he growls his approval. It’s the only sound he can make with his tongue occupied as it is: and what a glorious fucking occupation. The kiss tastes like rum and blood and something indefinable, something new and addictive. It’s not like kissing a woman, not with the strangeness of another beard against his own, the size and the power of the firm muscles straining against him. He slides his hands around to grab Flint’s ass with bruising strength and oh, the sensation of rubbing his erection against another is new too. New and incredible and he needs __more__ , needs there to be nothing between them. 

Flint grips John’s hair even tighter with his left hand so he can drag his right down the planes of his back. If John wants him unrestrained he’s damn well going to get it. He yanks John’s head back and sucks his way along the prominent jaw line to bite the junction of his neck while bucking his hips up hard. He does it again and again, until his body remembers the motion of fucking well enough that he can spare the focus necessary to bite and suck at John’s earlobe at the same time. He grins at the ragged sound it drags from John’s throat, is so focused on it that he barely registers when his shirt is yanked out of his trousers. 

“Off!” Silver orders, Flint’s shirt stuck awkwardly beneath his arms as he attempts to lift it off. When the man doesn’t obey immediately he forces the issue by twisting to the side and letting his weight pull them both down to the floor. He grunts at the impact, but takes advantage of the way Flint has thrown one hand out to catch them to pull the shirt up and closer to off. 

“You shit,” Flint accuses, struggling out of the offending fabric. He tries to hold some of his weight off of John with one arm, but then sharp trails of pain down his back send him collapsing in a spasm of pleasure, the shirt still balled up over his wrist. “John,” he gasps, and the loss of control would be embarrassing is it wasn't so damn arousing. 

Silver grins and drags his bitten off nails down Flint’s back again, planting his foot so he can buck his hips up for more friction. “More?” he asks, a fierce sort of joy breaking over him at the use of his given name. He already knows the answer, so he doesn’t wait before repeating the motion while sucking a bruise onto Flint’s neck. 

Flint arches his back, his body uncertain whether it wants to press into the sensations or pull away from them. He wants it, needs it, but the association of pain and pleasure is just so new. “I should’ve said cocky little shit,” he amends, reaching down in an attempt to loosen the ties at John’s waist. 

“That’s a yes,” Silver purrs, the back of his head banging against the floor as Flint growls and reaches down to cup his balls firmly. 

What follows is an uncoordinated melee of limbs and shedding clothing, of rolling across the planks in the general direction of the bed because getting up would mean losing contact and neither is willing to separate. Not when each bit of revealed skin is an new opportunity to bite and suck and scratch. It’s all the scents of sweat and blood and the tang of adrenaline as they wrestle- not for dominance, but to feel the answering strength. 

Flint’s coherent thoughts are hazy, he’s too focused on the sounds he can get John to make and the taste of his mouth and skin to think clearly. Still, he can’t help but consider the difference between this and what he had with Thomas. With Thomas it was softer, cleaner, the depth of passion coming from a completely different source. The musing is chased from his mind the moment they are finally naked and John is on top of him with a firm grip around both of their cocks, those startlingly blue eyes fixed hungrily on his own. “Fuck,” is all he manages, but John doesn’t seem to mind the lack of eloquence. 

“I don’t know,” John replies, his voice punctuated by small hitches of breath as he sits up and begins rocking his hips forward. The sensation of his testicles shifting against Flint’s is as novel and amazing as it is strange, as is the firm heat of their erections rubbing together with their uncoordinated movements. He’s far from good at this, but it doesn’t seem to matter to Flint if the openly awed look on his face is any indication. “I hadn’t considered this beyond __‘I want him__ ,’ and now that I have you I don’t think I have the patience for that. This is enough for now, don’t you think?” He’s rather proud of his ability to tease at a time like this, really. 

Flint uses the bruising grip he has on John’s hips to tip them sideways so he can scramble back on top. He distracts John with a firm bite to his neck so that he can capture his wrists and hold them to the floor just above his head. He shifts forward and spreads his knees wider so the head of John’s cock is pressing against his anus. He presses back and swivels his hips a bit, and oh, he would allow John this if he wanted it. “I think that in this, there is nothing I would not give you and no such thing as enough,” he admits, his voice low and earnest. He settles down so that their bodies are flush from hips to chests as he lines their cocks up again and begins to thrust his hips forward as if they were indeed fucking in a far more intimate manner. 

For a few moments Silver simply lies there and enjoys the bruising grip on his wrists, the taste of Flint’s mouth as it returns to his own, the planes of firm muscle shifting against him, and the idea of being inside of his captain...later though. There will be a later, he is sure of it. They are of one mind in so many things, why should this be any different? But now he wants his hands back because the friction is nowhere near enough to get him off. He bites Flint’s lower lip hard and takes advantage of the misdirection to pull his hands free and get one between them and the other behind Flint’s neck. “Grow your damn hair back out,” he complains, wishing he had something to hold onto. 

The laugh that escapes him is as much a surprise to Flint as it apparently is to John, who freezes for a moment then grins into his mouth, turning the kiss into more of a sharing of breath. “ _ _That’s__ the thing that bothers you? Not my beard, or my cock, or my lack of breasts? You are an enigma, John Silver.” A gorgeous fucking enigma, he thinks as he pulls back enough to watch John’s eyes flutter closed in pleasure as he wraps a hand around them as well and squeezes hard. 

“Long hair is sexy,” Silver manages, giving up and moving his hand down to grab Flint’s ass which is rather sexy as well. He tries to get some sort of rhythm going, but their hands are uncoordinated and neither can hold still so every time they twist or buck they falter and need to seek a rhythm all over again. After a minute or two Silver groans in frustration, mostly because his leg is a distracting pain as it rubs against the floor, and shoves Flint off of him. “Bed. Now. If we’re going to fumble around like virgins we may as well be comfortable while we do it.” For some reason, blaming the request on anything but his leg makes him feel better about it. 

Flint looks over at John, at the sheen of sweat on his skin and the bite marks and the mussed hair and thinks he should be irritated, but all he feels is a dark sort of amusement and an intense need to make the man sing his fucking praises. “I’ll show you virginal,” he growls. 

Silver yelps in surprise as he is unceremoniously scooped up and tossed onto his back on the nearby bed. Before he can complain about it though, Flint drags him forward so his ass is almost falling off the edge, gives him a devious sort of grin before dropping to his knees, and swallows him down until he feels the unfamiliar tickle of a beard against the base of his cock. The noise he makes is unquantifiable. 

Flint’s eyes water and he nearly chokes as he’s seriously out of practice, but he wants it too much to pull away. The scent of sex is overwhelming and arousing as hell and his erection bumps against his stomach, desperate for friction. He bobs his head a few times, sucking hard and holding John’s hips down so firmly he’s likely to have finger-shaped bruises before he can spare the focus to look up. He gets a fist around John’s erection and pumps it slowly, drinking in the sight of the arching back, the graceful arc of his neck as his head is thrown back. He’s beautiful like this: chest heaving and fingers scrabbling at the bedding, covered in marks of Flint’s creation. 

“Don’t stop,” Silver chokes out, beyond caring that he’s begging. He’s been sucked off plenty of times before, but never by someone so clearly hungry for it. Never when it felt like it meant something more than simple money or pleasure. 

Flint gladly resumes, rediscovering the thrill of this particular sort of power. In this moment, John is entirely under his control. He loves the thick slide between his lips, the tang of arousal, the gorgeous noises John is making just for him. But he doesn’t want it to end like this. He pulls away with a wet pop and crawls up to urge John’s legs around his waist. He gets his arms beneath John’s back and picks him up, turning around so he can sit on the edge of the low bed with John resting on his thighs. 

Anything Silver had been meaning to say- and for once he isn’t sure what that is- gets cut off by the taste of himself on Flint’s tongue as it slides back into his mouth with a confidence that is undeniably hot. He wraps his left arm around Flint’s back and digs his nails in, swallowing the encouraging noise before wrapping his right hand around Flint’s cock. “Like this?” he teases, circling his thumb over the slick head while tightening his thighs and rocking forward as much as he can. He’s never been the one on top in this particular position, and suddenly he has a new understanding of its appeal. 

“Harder,” Flint orders, dragging red trails down John’s back before pulling him closer. From there it is a frenzy of kisses biting and wet, of bruising grips and the slick sounds of sex and it’s everything he’s been needing. He comes first, his teeth locked onto John’s shoulder. 

Silver leans back to see the mess he’s helped create, the latest bite mark a delicious sort of throb that will last for days. “That’s fucking obscene,” he pants, watching Flint spread the still-warm ejaculate over Silver’s own erection and use it to smooth the way for even quicker jerks of his wrist. “Oh fuck, like that,” he grits out, resting his forehead against Flint’s so they can both watch his cock twitch and add to the mess between their bodies. He’s so boneless with the sudden calm that spreads through him that he barely registers when Flint lays him down and gets up in search of the bucket and rag he keeps for his personal ablutions. He hasn’t felt this relaxed in weeks, and the wild thing inside of him curls up and sleeps. 

Flint cleans himself up and then John as good as he can, but there’s really no hope for it. He finds he can’t bring himself to care, so he slides back into the bed next to John after only a momentary hesitation. Sex is one thing, but lying in bed with someone just for the sake of being near them is something else entirely.

Before the silence gets too awkward, Silver props himself up on one elbow and looks down at Flint. He reaches out casually to trace a few fingers through the sweat-damp curls on Flint’s chest then brushes them over any bite marks that catch his fancy. “I’m trying to decide what you are to me and what happens next,” he admits, because even though he’s not entirely honest with others he’s honest with his captain. These days, at least. 

“To what end? You forget I know your mind as well as you know mine. You have already decided what you want and what you will do. What you really want to know is, will I accept it.” Despite this thing between them be has no illusions about how it will end. John and Madi are made for each other.

Silver resists the urge to tuck himself into Flint’s side as he continues, but he leaves his hand where it is. “I have no desire to hurt you, but I’m greedy and prefer giving into temptation to resisting it. I won't love you like Thomas did, or give you what he did. Yet I want you while still wanting her. Maybe even loving her.” He pauses, trying to sort out his thoughts. “I would say that I want your body and not your heart, but that doesn't feel entirely true either…” He shakes his head in frustration, wishing he could find the words to explain it. Words are his strength, and to have them fail him is rare.

Relief that John doesn't want this to be a one time thing lets Flint breathe easier. Because it will end, but he is greedy as well and he wants it for as long as possible. “It’s hard to get used to, the idea wanting two people but wanting them differently. I was with Miranda first, you know, before I was with Thomas.” He reaches out a hand to play with the curls brushing against John’s neck. “What I had with him was completely different than what I had with her, yet I loved them both. I didn’t know that was possible. You and I...we can be whatever we want. There are no rules for men like us. You can have her, and have me when you need me as well.”

“If she accepts it,” Silver replies, and the thought is a weight in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t want to give either of them up, but he knows he will choose Madi if forced. 

“I know you and Madi...she is your future. And she knows about us. Hell, the entire ship knows by now. If she cannot understand this, it need not continue. Though I want it, I’ll not deny that.” It only takes a light tug on those curls to bring John down for another kiss, though this one is far gentler than any they’ve shared up to this point. The sincerity of it along with the knowledge that it may be the last,or very nearly so, has Flint clinging to John in a manner that is far more revealing than he’d like. He’s been so lonely for so very long, and though John will never be in love with him that doesn’t mean the reverse isn’t true. 

“For now then,” John replies, though he knows. He knows Flint feels for him in a manner he can’t return, and he knows he may as well have said, __I will hurt you in the end__.

“For now,” Flint agrees, and what he means is, __I am going to let you.__

“I will speak with her tomorrow, but that is hours away and we will not be needed on deck until the morning,” Silver points out, his grin sly as he tries to shake off the serious mood that has settled over them. He does not want to think about later, not now. Not when until he sees Maddi next all of this will be a thing that happened once, if necessary. He wasn’t kidding about being greedy. 

Flint drags John back on top of him, memorizing the catch of breath and the flex of muscle as he runs his hands down John’s spine to grab his ass. He doesn't think he has the energy left for what John seems to like, but he'll try. He freezes immediately at John's quiet, __No.__

“Not like before. I thought I would be content to know your violence and match it against my own. But now that the storm has spent itself I find I want something even more elusive that I had not expected to want.” Silver watches Flint’s eyes closely for his reaction and runs a finger lightly over his lower lip. “I have seen how you can be when you are…” He pauses to consider. He is thinking the word gentle but somehow he can't voice it. “Just after I lost my leg when you let me stay in your cabin, I would catch a soft glance in my direction when you didn't think I was watching. I'd not thought you retained the capacity for that.” It's an incomplete thought at best, but given the rapid play of emotions across Flint's face he thinks it's clear enough. He cannot understand the the desire for someone he is not in love with to make love to him, especially when the violence of their recent coupling is marked in red all over his skin, yet he wants it. 

Flint feels a sort of heartbreak in the soft press of lips, the way John sighs and settles against him just to feel it, not because of some overwhelming physical need as before. It's been so long since he's been treated with such care by a man that when John slides lower to lick a wet trail down his neck and then kiss his way over to flick his tongue experimentally over a nipple he feels overwhelmed. He is supposed to be the experienced one, but all he can do is bury his hands in John's curls and let him take the lead.

Silver hums his appreciation, happy that Flint is willing to go along with this. He has so much he wants to discover about what makes his captain shiver and writhe, wants to know what he sounds like when he’s lost in drawn out pleasure. He grazes his teeth over one pert nipple and then the other, loving the way Flint practically whines and tugs on his hair to urge him back up again and recapture his mouth.

Flint loses track of how long they’ve been kissing before they even begin to get hard again, and goes easily when John rolls him onto his back. He admires the view as John gets up to find the coconut oil he uses on his scars and returns with it, leaning down to kiss him with a painful sort of sweetness before slowly opening him up. Flint feels like he’s about to fly apart, and it’s only John’s steady hand on his hip that keeps him anchored to his body. “Yes,” is all he manages when John rolls them again to spoon up behind him and get one hand around his chest while the other lines up his cock. 

It’s unlike anything Silver has ever felt, the slow press forward until his thighs are pressed up behind Flint’s and there is no way to get any closer. “That’s it,” he praises as Flint’s trembling subsides and he relaxes. “I’ve got you.” He knows the trembling is due to this being overwhelmed and unrelated to pain or fear. How long has he needed this? He kisses the back of Flint’s neck and wraps a gentle hand around his erection before seeking a rhythm that has the man making more of those addictive sounds. As much as he feels a vague sort of jealousy about Thomas Hamilton, the thought that strikes him in the moment Flint’s hand comes up to cover Silver’s own over his heart is that he would do anything to get Thomas back for the man who clearly loves him still. 

When Flint comes shortly after the heady feeling of John finishing inside of him, it’s nearly an afterthought. A continuation of pleasure certainly, but nothing compared to the entire experience. This time John gets up to clean them off, and then pulls Flint up onto his chest to stroke his skin until they fall asleep. The silence remains unbroken, because they both know there are no words for this. 

Flint wakes in the deep dark of the night, having rolled away so that all that remains touching is the place where John has his ankle hooked over Flint’s. He spends a few minutes memorizing the play of moonlight and shadow across John’s sleeping features as the ship rocks back and forth. He makes a decision, but it takes him the good part of an hour slide out of bed to find his clothing and act on it. 

He nods at the watch as he passes, heading for the small storage space they have converted into a makeshift bunk for Madi. It takes him another few minutes to knock. 

When the door opens, Madi looks at Flint for a beat before stating, “You smell like him. Come in.” She steps aside and closes the door once he enters. “Why have you come?” 

Flint gathers his courage, feeling uncharacteristically cowed by the set of her jaw and the straightness of her back. She is a queen in this moment, and every inch worthy of John. “He is meant for you and we both know it. Together you will do great things. You will create a new world and raise a family in it. I know this. He knows this. He and I...we are something apart from all of that. While we are at war, he will be troubled about many things. I would prefer for this not to be one of them.” 

“And when we are not at war? He has a bigger heart than I to fit two people inside of it, and I would not see him hurt by feeling torn between us. What will you do then?” 

She gets to the heart of the matter immediately, and Flint can respect that. “I will leave,” he promises, though the idea pains him. Honestly, he doesn’t believe he will survive it anyway. 

Madi nods. “I do not pretend to understand it, but I will not prevent it. He is one who loves with everything he is, and hates with everything he is. I would not have that hate turned on me for denying him that which he wants. But neither can I spend my life sharing him. I am too jealous of his affections for that.”

“He loves you, or at least he will soon. He does not love me, not like I would want. But I find I am too selfish to give him up quite yet. He is a rare treasure, is he not?” 

“He is. Keep him safe for me,” Madi orders, her tone commanding. 

“Until the war is over,” Flint vows, holding his hand out for her to shake. 

When he slips back into bed, John stirs. 

“I dreamt that you left me,” Silver mumbles, still more asleep than awake. 

“I’m here,” Flint replies, lying back down and pulling him close. For now, at least. 

When Flint finally dreams, despite his arms remaining firmly wrapped around John, it is of Thomas. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, and send me recs for other fics! My tumblr is the same user name. I usually don't read a lot in a new fandom until I post something since I don't want other people's versions of the characters to accidentally affect my own. But now I want to read all the things, especially the femme slash. Must write some of that next...


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